Time with my daughter

I pressed her baby toes against my lips it was the same time as the ultrasound now, is the time that I can’t tie her hair before she goes to kindergarten now, is the time I climb a mountain with her and teach her how to swim now, is the time a woman will smile


I love my best of you
shine me
through the vestiges of your spring
make me, who has
the wind still in his wrinkles,
sing of how we love the silk softness
of our whiten hair,
chance with me the rite of our fingers through it,
entomb us in that raging, mad,
that sacred dance

Don Neon

Don Neon made the best letters in town New businesses came and went, and came again and the comings always involved Don Neon You paid per letter so the town was full of short names: Tom’s Tea, Bob’s Bowl, Fred’s Fork They were proper names and the town shone. Today, I saw all his signs

From quiet homes and first beginning, out to the undiscovered ends, there’s nothing worth the wear of winning, but laughter and the love of friends. – Hilaire Belloc

listen to Bach (and die)

there is no landscape but
a row of black I totem poles
absolution dogs us in complex fugues
played on a mole’s sleeping belly
mad frogs wearing unreliable diapers
augur a couple more dimensions
in which we thrive like ferns in giant forests
(we eat the lumens)
and keep patenting that impossible is nothing